My Heart's Beating Faster, I Know What I'm After
by Adrianna Rhode
Summary: "I dunno, what if Holmes decides you're in the way and sells you to the government and makes you hunt demons like a federal Ghostfacer?" asked Dean seriously. "Really, I can handle it." Eventual SuperLock crossover. Tons of episode transcripts, one OC, and lots of baby daddy drama.
1. Chapter 1

Without further ado, I present to you my precious baby of a fanfic. Please treat it well, I've been pouring my heart and soul into it for the last few months. Review, favorite, alert, do whatever you feel you must, but above all else, enjoy! xxBecca

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You know that sensation you get when you're trying to go to sleep, and it feels like you're falling? You're just trying to relax, get some shut-eye, and all of a sudden it feels like you've just taken a nosedive off the Golden Gate Bridge? Then you jerk violently awake and stare at the ceiling for a bit until you calm down? Imagine that happened. Then imagine you opened your eyes to see Sam and Dean Winchester staring down at you.

"Hey. Hey. Don't be scared. We got you," Sam Winchester said softly, kneeling down next to me.

I sat up, "What the hell is going on?" I was panicking, big time, but that was about all I could get out.

Above me, Dean spoke, "You haven't been yourself lately, let's put it that way."

"What's your name?" Sam placed his hand on my shoulder, eyes wide with concern.

"Aly Fairman. Where am I?"

Dean shrugged, "A warehouse in Nashville."

"What am I doing here?"

"Are you from Nashville?" asked Sam.

"California," I replied dryly.

"Wow. Okay."

Sam seemed to realize that I was just gaping at him, so he said, "My name's Sam Winchester. This is my brother, Dean."

"But…but you're…" I let my sentence trail off. It was no use. I couldn't just tell these two men that, as far as I knew, they weren't real.

Supernatural was just a television show.

"We're your knights in shining armor. Damn right," Dean said, offering a hand, and I let him pull me to my feet.

Sam stared at me, "Are you okay? Nothing hurts?"

"No."

"Okay," he allowed himself a small smile, "It's gonna sound crazy, but…we hunt monsters, and we just kind of saved you from one."

I blinked. What was he talking about?

"Come on, we gotta get out of here. We can take her back to town," Dean muttered.

I stood there, unsteadily, just gazing at the Winchesters. They had moved away from me, gathering weapons from around the room and stashing broken pieces of construction equipment in corners. It looked like they had just been in a hell of a fight.

Absentmindedly I started to take inventory of myself. I didn't have my cell phone. I was wearing exactly the clothes I remembered falling asleep in the night before. Then I looked at the floor.

"Jesus Christ!" I yelled, my arms pinwheeling as I stepped backwards.

I had been lying in a giant pentagram.

"Ooh, right, gotta get rid of this," Dean said.

He hurried over and started scuffing the red painted symbol away with his boot.

"Why did you put me in a demon trap?!" I demanded, ignoring the wave of uncomfortable that passed over Dean's face when I correctly identified the symbol.

"Who said anything about demons?" Sam asked carefully.

I rolled my eyes, "It's a demon trap. Obviously I've heard of demons, dumbass."

"Are you a hunter?" Dean asked, his voice challenging and slightly aggressive.

"No. But I've seen some things. I pay attention," I said, impressing myself with the not-quite-lies, "Now tell me exactly what I'm doing here."

Sam sighed, "Okay. Don't get mad. You might get mad."

"Try me."

"We had to get you in there to make sure we could save you. You were possessed," Sam said.

"Some demon chick made you her bitch," Dean broke in, grinning.

I gaped at them, "That's not possible."

"Well obviously it is, sweetheart," Dean snorted, "Considering we just chased one of hell's little babies out of your skull.

"But…it's seriously not possible," I insisted, "None of this is real."

And with very little regard for sanity, I plunged away into a description of how, as far as I knew, the Winchesters were characters in a television series called Supernatural, demons weren't real, and I had somehow been transported into a different canon and was very likely losing my mind.

Dean just shook his head, "Yeah, you are thirty-two flavors of crazy."

I looked at him, "I bet I know everything about you."

"Oh yeah?" Dean took a step toward me, and if I was any less irate, I would've been scared for my life.

I studied Sam for a minute, grateful for my obsessive memory that had cataloged so much Winchester trivia back when it was just fiction. Based on his hair, I had landed sometime after Dean's Crossroads deal. That gave me plenty of ammo. Oh, good.

"Your mother died when you were both little. She burned on the ceiling, courtesy of a demon, and it set your dad on his life of hunting. You almost died when you were electrocuted but a fake-ass psychic healer fixed it. You almost died again in a car crash but your father sold his soul to the yellow-eyed demon for you. You love your car, you love girls, you love to drink, you love Sam more than the whole world. And you sold your soul to a Crossroads demon to save Sam's life when he was stabbed, and now you're going to die for good."

I finished my rant with a ringing silence.

Dean was looking at me with equal parts fury and fear. Sam looked like he couldn't decide who to tackle and tie up first to prevent a murder, me or Dean.

"If I hadn't exorcised you myself I would swear there was still a demon bitch in there, just trying to mess with my head," he growled.

Sam spoke softly, "Okay, you know what, let's call Bobby. Maybe he's heard of this kind of thing before."

Dean nodded almost unintelligibly, so Sam pulled out his cell phone and dialed. A few sentences later, Sam put the phone on speaker and Bobby's voice filtered into the musty warehouse.

"You say she's claiming she lived in an alternate universe? I've heard a couple cases like that with other possession victims," Bobby said.

"Did they all imagine us as a television show?" Dean asked, glancing at me.

"Don't sass me, boy," Bobby's voice was impatient, "It's just a big hallucination. Something that the demon uses to keep the person's mind occupied while it's runnin' around in their skin. Just like pressing play on a movie tape, they think they're livin' a whole life."

"So she's okay, then. Just confused," Sam said.

"If the demon was in there long enough, she probably has no memory of her real life at all. You two might be stuck with her," Bobby said.

"You can't be serious," Dean looked at me, "I didn't sign up for watching over any lost puppies."

Sam frowned at Dean, but spoke to Bobby, "What do you mean?"

"You said she knows about hunting," Bobby explained, slowly, like he was talking to a small child, "So make her a hunter. Maybe her parents were in the business, or somethin' else happened that she don't remember now. God knows she can't have a normal life all by herself after this."

"Yes she can!" Dean implored.

Bobby started to reply, but Sam scooped up the phone and put it to his ear. He spoke to Bobby for a few more moments, then hung up.

"Okay. Looks like we're taking you with us," Sam said, looking at me.

I stared at Sam, "Excuse me?"

Sam sighed again, "Bobby thinks it'd be best if we just brought you with us. He has a theory that if you were important enough to possess for that long, then something out there likes you. And if you're a demon's favorite, for any reason, you could be in danger. Especially now."

I opened my mouth to protest, but Dean beat me to it.

"Sammy, we can't take her with us! She'll slow us down. She doesn't wanna get mixed up in the job. Hell,_ I_ don't want her to get mixed up in the job!"

"We have no choice, Dean! If you were stranded, with no memory and nothing to your name, and maybe a demon on your back, wouldn't you want someone to help you? We're the best chance she has," Sam said, gesturing emphatically.

"That is a terrible plan," I interrupted.

"No way in hell," Dean said, arms crossed.

"Hey, call me crazy, but I don't like this," I said, looking back and forth between the brothers, "I've never _wanted_ to do the job. But if it's the only way out, I will."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Stop it. If I can prove to you that I can be a hunter, can I stay?" I asked.

"You can stay anyway," Sam said.

"If you can handle the family business, you can stay. I don't want you in my way, so you're gonna hunt and bunk and rough it just like us. I've met plenty of people much tougher than you who can't, though. And it ain't because you're a chick. Chicks can be hunters. Just not chicks like you," Dean said flatly.

He gave me a final challenging look, then strode out of the warehouse, hands jammed in his pockets.

I bristled, "He doesn't know me. He can't say that."

"Dean's just…Dean. It's hard to get him to warm up to you, unless he's trying to get in your pants. You annoy him, I guess. He'll come around," Sam said, unhelpfully, "We better follow."

I hoped Sam was right, because if I didn't stay with them, I had no idea what I would do. Bobby knew what he was talking about: there was no way I could have a normal life now.

I walked slowly after Sam out of the dank warehouse. Outside, the sun was just starting to go down. The sky was painted in beautiful twilight colors. I wished I had time to enjoy it. I watched the brothers pile their weapons into the trunk of their black 1967 Chevy Impala, bathed in the setting sun.

"Hurry up, we gotta haul ass before someone finds us," Dean called, pounding his hand on the roof of his car.

"Sorry."

I knew nothing about cars, but the Impala was a majestic piece of work. Sam reached around and opened the back door for me. I smiled, grateful, pleased that at least he didn't hate me. I slid into the backseat, reveling at the idea that this was _the_ car. The engine roared to life, and suddenly I was experiencing Dean Winchester's reckless driving firsthand.

We rode in silence for way too long. I felt more awkward that I had ever felt before. It was painfully obvious that the boys didn't want to discuss whatever cases they were working on in front of me. I was the possession victim, the vessel, the stray puppy.

Just as I was about to request that they let me out to hitchhike, just to break the quiet, Sam spoke up.

"So Bela took the Colt. So we don't have a lead on her yet. Quit pouting. At least we questioned and exorcised the demon inside Aly. That's a start."

"A start? Sammy, that's jack squat. We need that gun, man," Dean lamented.

Sam sighed, "I know, Dean. If I ever wanna break your deal-"

"Well you can't, okay? Quit worrying about it. I know I said I don't wanna die. Nobody does, not this way. But it's happening," Dean said flatly.

Sam didn't reply. But Dean turned to look at him with a face full of emotion, and some sort of understanding passed between them. I'd seen enough of their behavior to know it was a brother thing, and I wasn't allowed in on it.

"Bela Talbot?" I asked, venturing to join the conversation.

Dean glanced at me in the rearview mirror, "You know her?"

"I know the name," I said, "She was in the TV show…hallucination…whatever it was. But the last thing I remember about the Colt, Sam had it. He shot that…that Crossroads demon with it."

"You're just a little behind, sweetheart," Dean replied coolly.

"That was months ago," Sam explained, "Our last job was, well, you. Or the demon in you, at least. Before that, we had some trouble with a kid who could manipulate dreams."

I must've made a face, because Dean broke in, "It was worse than it sounds."

"Much worse," Sam confirmed, nodding slowly, "So, uh, Dean. What do you say we go after some small hunts for a while? Bobby was telling me the other day that something weird was up down in Florida. No details, but someone he knows down there had a case. Interested?"

"Alright," Dean agreed, much to my surprise.

Sam turned around to me, "You ready for your first hunt?"

"I don't know," I said honestly.

"Well you better figure it out," Dean smirked, "Florida, here we come!"


	2. Chapter 2

Though I always do love reviews, I've decided to post the next chapter quickly even though there's none. That's okay. I see the traffic and some people are reading this. If you do check this out, a review or favorite or notification or PM, whatever you prefer, would be appreciated. As always, please enjoy this labor of love. xxBecca

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I'd never found classic rock to be very soothing, but it only took a few AC/DC songs to lull me to sleep. I tried my best to stay awake. I kept trying to make sense of what was going on with me; I was still pretty sure that I was insane. But I must have looked tired, because almost immediately, Sam told me to lie down on the seat and get some sleep. And I did.

"Aly."

Sam's voice drifted into my subconscious.

"Aly."

This happened a lot, when I fell asleep watching Supernatural. But Sam never said my name before.

"Aly! Get up! We're gonna grab some food. You want anything?"

That was Dean. I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling of the Impala. Oh, right. I was in my personal Winchester nightmare.

"Yeah, yeah, gimme a minute," I said, pulling myself up.

I stumbled out of the car, my legs cramped from sleeping in the tight car. Sam and Dean were dressed in fresh clothes, both looking at me and my obvious exhaustion with mirth in their eyes.

"Where are we?" I asked, glancing around.

"Broward County, Florida," Dean said, gesturing at the town around us.

The Impala was the only car in the parking lot of a tiny grocery store. I could see a couple other stores around; a diner, a barbershop, a clothing shop.

"We need some food. I figured you'd be hungry. Exorcisms aren't the best for the appetite, but who knows how long that demon bitch had been riding around in your body?" Sam said gently.

"Good idea," I agreed, "And uh, guys? Can I maybe get into some new clothes, too? I don't even know how long I've been in these."

I looked down at my worn jeans and top. They were still filthy from the warehouse, and now mussed with sleep.

"Sure thing," Sam promised.

As it turned out, walking around in a grocery store with the Winchesters was one of the weirdest, most domestic things I'd ever done. We picked up sandwiches and chips, and Dean had to get one of those single-serve slices of apple pie. They paid in cash, which was more than I expected, knowing how often they used credit cards from whatever scam they were running at the time.

"We'll check into that motel down the street," Sam said to Dean as we clambered back into the Impala.

It only took a minute to pull into the lot of the dingy motel. I grimaced at Dean as Sam went into the office to rent out a room.

"Wipe that look off your face. What, you think the job includes five-star hotels and heated swimming pools?" Dean frowned, eyes mocking.

"No. I'm fine."

"Better be. You're the one who wanted to come along."

"Come on, guys, play nice," Sam said, joining us.

Dean muttered something about princesses and snatched the key to the motel room from his brother. The three of us trailed into the motel room, both Winchesters hauling a duffel bag. The place was exactly what I had expected: kind of dirty, but rustic and secure. It wouldn't be fun, but it would do. The only problem was identified by Dean a moment later.

"There's only two beds."

Sam looked at his brother with a raised eyebrow, "Uh…yeah."

"Where is she gonna sleep?" Dean asked, quirking a thumb at me.

"You don't think we can fit three people in two double beds?" Sam asked, setting his bag down on the floor.

"She messes up the whole mojo of hunting, man!" Dean complained, tossing his duffel down, too.

"Nice," Sam looked at me, brow furrowed, "Hey, uh, I had an idea. How about you give us your sizes and we pick up some stuff for you at that store? That way you can stay here."

"In what universe is that a good idea? I should let you be my personal shopper?" I asked incredulously.

"We're not that bad."

"I don't want to walk around in a plaid explosion, Sam!"

"Look, I think you should dig around in our stash and find something you like," Sam said.

I must have looked incredibly confused, because Dean rolled his eyes and explained, "You can't just walk around unarmed. And we can't force you to take anything, 'cause then there's the danger of you not knowing how to use it. So yes, let us buy you clothes, and you can play with all our dangerous goodies and pick something. Because we're on a job tomorrow and if you ain't ready, you ain't playing."

"Fine," I sighed.

I wrote down my sizes on a sheet of motel stationery, and the brothers took off, leaving me with instructions to dig through the duffel bags and find my weapon of choice.

Clothes were the last thing on my mind, now. I didn't care what they brought me, as long as it was clean and not stolen. Really, I was annoyed that Sam and Dean had effectively just put me under house arrest. I hadn't expected them to come down so hard on me.

But as I slowly pulled pistols, sawed-off shotguns, and knives of all sizes out of their bags with shaking hands, I reasoned that they weren't trying to treat me like a kid they were babysitting. The Winchesters wanted me to be armed, to be ready to take on anything that came. I was with two of the most wanted hunters ever. I _had_ to be ready.

At the bottom of Dean's bag, under spare socks and a handful of fake ID's, I found a six-inch blade with a scrimshawed wooden handle. It looked like it hadn't been used in ages, and when I pulled it out of the leather sheath, it was razor-sharp. I liked it. I tucked it to the side, and shut Dean's bag.

The hour was starting to catch up to me. I had spent a lot of the car ride sleeping, but I felt like I had been awake for weeks. Most likely, I had. I didn't think demons really cared whether their meatsuits needed sleep. I looked at the two beds, trying to decide which one would annoy the Winchesters least if I slept in it.

I ended up curling into one of the beds and falling asleep. I would've slept right through to the next morning, but the boys woke me up talking.

"Now what? I was going to sleep there!" I heard Dean half-whisper furiously.

"You're going to wake her up!" Sam reprimanded.

"I can move," I said sleepily, turning over to look at the brothers.

"Your call," Sam said in a low voice.

Dean considered me a moment, and then shook his head, "Nah. She can stay. I'll figure something out."

It took way longer than I expected to fall back to sleep. I listened to the two brothers talk quietly for a while, then I watched Sam's silhouette as he got into the other bed. Drifting in and out of consciousness, I heard Dean take a shower. I was comfortable in the big bed, and content with the two deadly hunters watching over me.

Sometime during the middle of the night, I woke up as I was tossing in bed. I settled onto my side, cringing at the cool sheets. I blinked a few times, trying to relax, but my adrenaline flared when my foot touched something warm. My eyes flew open, and I saw Dean, sound asleep, tucked as far away from me as possible in the bed. He had decided to sleep in the bed with me. I was impressed and kind of touched. Smiling, I turned away from him and returned to my slumber.

Dean had been playing the radio all morning. Somehow, he managed not to wake me up when he crawled out of bed, but as soon as I heard The Clash pumping over the radio, I rolled over to see Dean shirtless, digging around in a duffel bag. He pulled out a t-shirt and a button-down and slipped them on. I watched, still half asleep, until he turned around.

"Good morning, there, princess. Enjoying the show?" Dean smirked, tugging his amulet out of the cuff of his shirt.

"Oh, yeah, gotta objectify my favorite Winchester," I said brightly.

Dean laughed, actually laughed, and walked across the room to get his boots. I took the moment when his back was turned to put on fresh clothes. The tank top and jeans felt worn already. They had been in that shop for years, I was willing to bet. I was glad they'd bought me a belt, though. That meant I had a place to put the knife I picked last night.

"Dean," I said, impulsively.

He looked up at me.

"I found this in your bag. Is it…can I use this?" I asked, holding the knife out to him.

Dean took it from me, and slid the sheath off the blade, grinning, "Aw yeah. We took it off this vampire dude we hunted one time, years ago. I forgot all about it. Good blade."

He handed it back to me, still grinning at the memory.

Satisfied, I sat on one side of the bed, fiddling with my few possessions, repacking them in the backpack Sam leant me. Dean sat on the other, near the radio, jamming to whatever classic rock station he had found. I was about to crack out a remark on his music taste, when I song I recognized came on.

"Awesome," Dean tugged one boot on, beginning to lip sync along to the song.

It took me a minute, but I figured it out. Heat of the Moment by Asia.

Just as the chorus began, Sam jerked awake in the bed next to us. He sat up, gasping with the surprise of the loud rock music.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!" Dean called over the tinny radio.

Sam blinked at his brother, "Dude. Asia?"

"Come on, you love this song and you know it."

"Yeah, and if I ever hear it again I'm gonna kill myself."

Dean looked at me with a shrug, and reached over the crank the volume louder.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you!" he said to Sam.

I could barely make out Sam chuckling, as Dean broke into a head-banging dance to accompany the song, pointing at Sam and lip syncing with a deadly serious expression. Still miming, Dean stood up and started pulling things out of his pack, disappearing into the bathroom.

Sam looked at me, face still lit up, "He's an idiot."

I grinned, "But he's your idiot."

I was saved from Sam's retort by Dean throwing a toothbrush at me.

"Scrub up, princess!" he called.

"I thought he didn't want any lost puppies on his hunt," I commented to Sam in a low voice.

Sam shrugged, "Dean's weird. Maybe he likes you."

"Doubt it."

The younger Winchester smirked at me as he got out of bed. I busied myself with investigating my new toothbrush while he changed. These guys didn't seem to care exactly how distracting it was to see them shirtless all the time. When he was decent, Sam started towards the bathroom, motioning for me to follow.

"If you're gonna live like us, you're getting the intensive course," Dean said, stashing his toothbrush as we came in, "Ain't no time for taking turns. Just wash up and head out."

Sam rolled his eyes and handed me the toothpaste, which was disgusting and made Sam examine the bottle with concern. As Sam went to brush, Dean threw his head back and started gargling water, loudly. He tilted his head towards us, and grinned at his antics. Sam stared at him, making the same face he was using on the toothpaste bottle.

I finished as quickly as I could and hurried back into the main room of the motel. The last thing I wanted was for the Winchesters to complain that I was taking too long to get ready. I spent a few minutes struggling to get the knife onto my belt. Sam came in, and slung a jacket over his plaid shirt. Dean, for some reason unbeknownst to me, dumped everything in his bag on the bed and started rooting around.

Sam stood by the door, leaning on the frame, one hand on his hip.

"Whenever you're ready, Dean," Sam said sarcastically.

Dean ignored him, reaching into a pile of clothes and pulling out a silky black bra. My silky black bra that I had ditched the night before, because Sam had brought me sports bras from the clothing shop until I could get myself something better.

"This yours?" Dean deadpanned, holding it out to Sam.

Sam glared at him, and pointed at me like a kid passing on the blame.

"Ha!" Dean laughed.

He dropped the bra, and dug around for another moment.

"Bingo."

I watched with a touch of amusement as Dean picked up his gun, admired it for a moment, and then started walking to the door, simultaneously stuffing the gun into the waistband of his jeans.

"Now, who's ready for some breakfast?" Dean asked, skirting by Sam and I.

Sam gave me a very exasperated look, but followed his brother out. I could only think that Sam was probably glad there was someone to share his annoyance now.

We found ourselves walking into the tiny diner I had seen the day before. The boys looked around, warily, taking in everything like they had probably been conditioned to do. I listened to the bustle of the little joint as we passed.

"Drive safely now, Mr. Pickett," a cashier said to an old man.

"Yeah, yeah," the man replied irritably.

"Order up," the cook called from the back room.

A waitress glanced at a ragged-looking man sitting at the counter, "Can't stay unless you order something, Cal. You know the rules."

He passed her some change, "Some coffee."

Sam and Dean sat down at an empty booth, one on each side of the table. I hesitated, glancing back and forth between them. There was plenty of room, but I still felt unwelcome. Sam slid over quickly, and I sat. Dean hadn't even notice my dilemma. He was too distracted by a poster on the wall.

"Hey. Tuesday. Pig in a poke," Dean said, looking thrilled at the idea of the Tuesday special.

Sam stared at him, amused, "You even know what that is?"

Dean's smile didn't falter, "No. I bet Aly does."

"Not a clue," I admitted.

The waitress walked up to the table, pen in hand, "You kids ready to order?"

"Yes. I'll have the special, side of bacon and a coffee," Dean said.

"Make it two coffees and a short stack," said Sam.

"Homestyle potatoes and bacon. And tea, please," I added.

"You got it," said the waitress.

"Thanks," I said, pausing to read her nametag, "Doris. Thanks."

She smiled at me, and the boys chuckled. I guess the Winchesters didn't really do polite.

Dean turned to his brother as the waitress walked away, "I'm telling you, Sam, this job is small fry. We should be spending our time hunting down Bela."

"Okay, sure, let's get right on that. Where is she again?" Sam replied, looking at Dean expectantly.

"Shut up."

"Look. Believe me, I want to find her as bad as you do. In the meantime, we have this," Sam pulled some papers out of his jacket pocket and laid them on the table in front of Dean.

Dean glanced at the top clipping, "All right, so this professor…"

"Dexter Hasselback, he was passing through town last week when he vanished," Sam finished.

As the boys talked, I leafed through the papers as Dean finished with them. The headline of one newspaper clipping read "MISSING - DEXTER HASSELBACK LAST SEEN IN BROWARD, FLORIDA".

"Last known location?"

"His daughter says he was on his way to visit the Broward County Mystery Spot."

Dean turned over a flyer, which I impatiently read upside-down as he read it aloud, "Where the laws of physics have no meaning."

Sam shrugged, and I nodded my agreement. It was a weird concept, a man missing in a tourist trap mystery house. The waitress, Doris, arrived a moment later with a tray holding our drinks and a bottle of hot sauce.

"Two coffees and a tea, all black, and some hot sauce for the–" She gasped as the hot sauce fell off the tray as she tipped it, and smashed on the floor.

"Whoops. Crap! Sorry," she said, and turned to the kitchen at the back of the diner, "Cleanup!"

Dean shook his head ever so slightly, and sipped his coffee. I had to stifle my giggle in my tea. The brothers didn't talk any more about the case once the food arrived. I was surprised; it was really good. Maybe they were onto something with the on-the-road diner-and-motel lifestyle.

They finished eating in record time. Much too quickly for my liking, Sam was paying the tab and Dean was hauling me out of my chair. I glanced longingly at the bacon left on my plate, but obeyed. These boys needed to learn how to enjoy. The Mystery Spot wasn't going anywhere.

I grumbled to myself about my lost breakfast as I walked down the sidewalk behind the Winchesters. A dog barked at Dean, voicing my feelings. I smirked.

"Sam, joints like these are only tourist traps, right? I mean, you know, balls rolling uphill, furniture nailed to the ceiling, they're only dangerous to your wallet," Dean said from in front of me, staring down at the Mystery Spot flyer in his hand.

Sam rolled his eyes, "Okay, look, I'm just saying, there are spots in the world where holes open up and swallow people. The Bermuda Triangle, uh, the Oregon Vortex—"

"Broward County Mystery Spot?"

"Well sometimes these places are legit," Sam shrugged.

Dean looked back at the flyer, unamused, "All right, so if it is legit, and that's a big-ass if, what's the lore?"

"Well—" Sam started, cut off by Dean slamming into a blonde girl walking the opposite way down the sidewalk, carrying a stack of paper.

"Excuse me," the girl said, nudging past me as Dean stared after her.

"The lore's pretty frigging nuts, actually," Sam continued, "They say these places the magnetic fields are so strong that they can bend spacetime, sending victims no one knows where."

"Sounds a little X-Files to me," Dean said dryly.

We walked past two movers trying to push a desk into a doorway, groaning at each other as they struggled with the obviously too-big piece.

"Told you it wouldn't fit," one of the movers mumbled.

"What do you want, a Pulitzer?" his partner retorted.

"All right, look, I'm not saying this is really happening, but if it is, we gotta check it out, see if we can do something," Sam said, as soon as the movers were past.

Dean sighed, "All right, all right, we'll go tonight after they close, get ourselves a nice long look."

Sam turned back to face me, "So. You wanna come?"

"I guess so," I said unenthusiastically.

"Now, that's no way to be," Dean teased, "We're going in there full-supernatural. Guns and everything. You ready?"

I looked Dean in the eyes, which turned out to be a mistake because they were breathtaking. He raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. I'm ready," I said, hands on my hips.

"Good," Sam said, "This should be pretty routine, anyway. Good first job."

Dean chuckled, "Yep. Nobody should die this time."

I thought I would be kind of instinctually ready for my first hunt, given that I had seen so many jobs on what I thought at the time was the Supernatural TV show. But, no. I was absolutely terrified as we made our way through the Broward County Mystery Spot.

Sam opened a door to a hallway that was painted neon-green with black spirals. The two brothers were brandishing flashlights, moving softly despite how big they both were. I marveled at their prowess as I clutched my knife in one hand and followed quickly behind them.

I must have looked as scared as I felt, because when Sam turned around to make sure I was still following (and not panicking), he smiled softly.

"Here. Walk ahead of me," he said, gesturing me forward.

I obliged. I did feel better, to have one Winchester walking in front of me and one behind, like bodyguards. We moved into a room with some of the house's illusions. Dean shined his flashlight up on the ceiling, where a table was suspended upside-down, with a lamp and an ashtray seemingly clinging to its surface.

"Wow. Uncanny," said Dean, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sam paused to look at a table suspended at a forty-five-degree angle, with a wineglass and a chicken dinner on it, running his EMF detector closely over the surface of the fake roast chicken. I stood in the middle of the room, looking at all the props but not touching anything. I figured it would be best not to cause any trouble while we were breaking and entering, not while I was such a novice.

"Find anything?" Dean asked.

"No," Sam replied, holding up his silent EMF detector.

"You have any idea what you're looking for?"

"Uh ... yeah."

Dean raised his eyebrows skeptically.

"No," Sam admitted.

I grinned. Dean shook his head and shot me an exasperated expression. The brothers kept searching, running their hands over fake sharks and giant plastic seahorses.

Suddenly, from behind me, a voice called out sharply, "What the hell are you doing here?!"

Sam turned slowly, one hand snaking out to grab my shoulder and pull me closer to him. Dean had whipped around immediately, handgun and flashlight pointed at the sound. A man I could only assume was a worker at the Mystery Spot was aiming a gun at Dean.

Dean pointed his gun away, hand up in a gesture of surrender, "Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa. Whoa. We can explain."

The man pointed his gun at me, and then Sam, "You robbing me?"

"Look, nobody's robbing you, calm down," Sam said hurriedly.

Unconvinced, the man shifted his gun barrel back to Dean, "Don't…Don't move!"

"Just putting the gun down," Dean said, speaking very clearly.

The gun went off. I gasped, and probably made some kind of totally ridiculous sound, but I didn't care. Dean fell to the ground. Both Sam and the strange man went wide-eyed with panic.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, rushing to his brother.

Dean was struggling to breathe, that much was clear. His face was screwed up with pain. I moved around Sam, standing between him and the man, who was still holding up his gun.

"Hey!" Sam spoke to Dean, frenzied, trying to get him to respond.

Dean gasped, clutching at his brother. I was crying, all of a sudden. This wasn't supposed to happen. This was a terrible hallucination. If this was all still in my head, which I hadn't ruled out, it was not funny anymore and I wanted out.

Sam looked past me at the man, tears twinkling in his eyes, too, "Call 911!"

The man was frozen on the spot, "I—I didn't mean to—"

"Now!" Sam yelled.

Startled, the man hurried out of the room, leaving me alone with Sam and Dean. Sam was cradling his big brother in his arms. I moved closer, knelt next to them. I tried to picture Supernatural without Dean, and immediately regretted it. What was even happening?

"Hey, hey, oh, no, no, no..." Sam murmured to his brother, gripping his shirt in shaking fists, "Not like this..."

Dean went still. His eyes fluttered shut. I clapped both my hands over my mouth to stifle a sob. Sam watched him, devastated, his face in total disbelief.

"Dean."


	3. Chapter 3

Here's your next fix. Hope you enjoy! xxBecca

And YES, if you think you're having deja vu at the beginning of the chapter here, you're right.

)()()()()()()()()()(

Dean had been playing the radio all morning. Somehow, he managed not to wake me up when he crawled out of bed, but as soon as I heard The Clash pumping over the radio, I rolled over to see Dean shirtless, digging around in a duffel bag. He pulled out a t-shirt and a button-down and slipped them on. I watched, still half asleep, until he turned around.

"Good morning, there, princess. Enjoying the show?" Dean smirked, tugging his amulet out of the cuff of his shirt.

"Oh, yeah, gotta objectify my favorite Winchester," I said brightly.

Dean laughed, actually laughed, and walked across the room to get his boots. I took the moment when his back was turned to put on fresh clothes. The tank top and jeans felt worn already. They had been in that shop for years, I was willing to bet. I was glad they'd bought me a belt, though. That meant I had a place to put the knife I picked last night.

"Dean," I said, impulsively.

He looked up at me.

"I found this in your bag. Is it…can I use this?" I asked, holding the knife out to him.

Dean took it from me, and slid the sheath off the blade, grinning, "Aw yeah. We took it off this vampire dude we hunted one time, years ago. I forgot all about it. Good blade."

He handed it back to me, still grinning at the memory.

Satisfied, I sat on one side of the bed, fiddling with my few possessions, repacking them in the backpack Sam leant me. Dean sat on the other, near the radio, jamming to whatever classic rock station he had found. I was about to crack out a remark on his music taste, when I song I recognized came on.

"Awesome," Dean tugged one boot on, beginning to lip sync along to the song.

It took me a minute, but I figured it out. Heat of the Moment by Asia.

Just as the chorus began, Sam jerked awake in the bed next to us. He sat up, gasping and breathing hard, like he'd been having a nightmare.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!" Dean called over the tinny radio.

Sam glanced sidelong at the radio, and then back at his brother

"Dude," Dean jerked his thumb at the radio, "Asia."

Eyes wide with panic, Sam stared at him, "Dean."

"Oh, come on. You love this song and you know it," Dean said.

Dean looked at me with a shrug, and reached over the crank the volume louder.

I watched Sam (who looked about ready to pass out) as Dean broke into a head-banging dance to accompany the song, pointing at Sam and lip syncing with a deadly serious expression. Still miming, Dean stood up and started pulling things out of his pack, disappearing into the bathroom.

Sam looked at me, face still panicked, "He's alive."

I nodded, "Yeah. So are you. So am I. Good day so far."

I waited for Sam to laugh and make some retort back, but he didn't. He did jump visibly when Dean threw a toothbrush at me.

"Scrub up, princess!" he called.

"I thought he didn't want any lost puppies on his hunt," I commented to Sam in a low voice.

The younger Winchester didn't even look at me as he got out of bed. I busied myself with investigating my new toothbrush while he changed. These guys didn't seem to care exactly how distracting it was to see them shirtless all the time. When he was decent, Sam started towards the bathroom, hands quivering. I wondered what was making him so nervous.

"If you're gonna live like us, you're getting the intensive course," Dean said, stashing his toothbrush as we came in, "Ain't no time for taking turns. Just wash up and head out."

Sam slapped the toothpaste into my hand, which actually hurt a little. I watched him as he brushed his teeth in record time. As Sam began to rinse his mouth with water, Dean threw his head back and started gargling water, loudly. He tilted his head towards us, and grinned at his antics. Sam stared at him. Both brothers spit into the sink, still looking at each other.

"What?" Dean asked, finally.

Sam hesitated. "I don't know."

"You all right?"

"I think I—" Sam paused, then shook his head, "Man, I had a weird dream."

"Yeah?" Dean asked, picking his teeth in the mirror, "Clowns or midgets?"

Dean looked at his brother expectantly. Sam just shook his head again.

"Are those the only kinds of weird dreams?" I asked, mystified.

"Hell no. We'll have that conversation when you're older," Dean said, patting me on the shoulder as he walked out of the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, we found ourselves walking into the tiny diner I had seen the day before. The boys looked around, warily, taking in everything like they had probably been conditioned to do. I listened to the bustle of the little joint as we passed.

"Drive safely now, Mr. Pickett," a cashier said to an old man.

"Yeah, yeah," the man replied irritably.

"Order up," the cook called from the back room.

Sam stared at every person we passed. And not an interested glance, like an intense sort of I'm-looking-at-you stare that people hardly ever use.

A waitress glanced at a ragged-looking man sitting at the counter, "Can't stay unless you order something, Cal. You know the rules."

He passed her some change, "Some coffee."

Sam and Dean sat down at an empty booth, one on each side of the table. Before I could react, Sam grabbed me by the arm and pulled me into his side of the booth, as if he knew I was feeling awkward about where to sit.

"Hey. Tuesday. Pig in a poke," Dean said, looking thrilled at the idea of the Tuesday special.

Sam glanced at the poster, and then resumed staring at Dean, "It's Tuesday?"

Dean's smile faltered, "Yeah."

"Day after Monday," I said.

The waitress walked up to the table, pen in hand, "You kids ready to order?"

"Yes. I'll have the special, side of bacon and a coffee," Dean said.

"Homestyle potatoes and bacon. And tea, please," I added.

"Nothing for me, thanks," Sam said.

"Let me know if you change your mind," said the waitress.

"Thanks," I said, pausing to read her nametag, "Doris. Thanks."

She smiled at me, and Dean chuckled. I guess the Winchesters didn't really do polite.

Dean turned to his brother as the waitress walked away, "I'm telling you, Sam, this job is small fry. We should be spending our time hunting down Bela."

Sam didn't say anything.

"Hey!" Dean snapped his fingers at his brother, "You with me?"

"What?"

Dean stared at him, "You sure you feel okay?"

Sam sighed, "You don't—you don't remember? Any of this?"

"Remember what?" Dean asked.

"This. Today. Like it's—like it's ... happened before?"

I raised an eyebrow at him, "What are you talking about?"

"You mean like déjà vu?" Dean offered.

"No, I mean like, like it's really happened before."

"Yeah. Like déjà vu."

Sam raised his voice a hair, obviously upset, "No, forget about déjà vu. I'm asking you if it feels like, like we're living yesterday all over again."

Dean paused, then said, "Okay, how is that not dé—"

"Don't, don't say it! Just don't even..." Sam said, angrily.

Dean shrugged, and I nodded my agreement. It was a weird concept, Sam thinking we were reliving the same day. He must've been pretty overtired. The waitress, Doris, arrived a moment later with a tray holding our drinks and a bottle of hot sauce.

"A coffee and a tea, both black, and some hot sauce for the–" She gasped as the hot sauce fell off the tray, "Whoops. Crap!"

But Sam had grabbed the hot sauce bottle with one hand as it fell. Doris gasped. Sam stared at the bottle in his hand and gave it back to her.

"Thanks," she said, placing the bottle down on the table and walking off, smiling.

"Nice reflexes," Dean said, impressed.

Sam swallowed hard, looking really frustrated and kind of confused. Dean shook his head ever so slightly, and sipped his coffee. I had to stifle my giggle in my tea. The brothers didn't talk any more once the food arrived. I was surprised; it was really good. Maybe they were onto something with the on-the-road diner-and-motel lifestyle.

They finished eating in record time. Much too quickly for my liking, Dean was paying the tab and Sam was hauling me out of my chair. I glanced longingly at the bacon left on my plate, but obeyed. These boys needed to learn how to enjoy. The Mystery Spot wasn't going anywhere.

I grumbled to myself about my lost breakfast as I walked down the sidewalk behind the Winchesters. They were deep in conversation about something I wasn't paying any attention. A dog barked at Sam, voicing my feelings. I smirked. Sam stared back over his shoulder.

Dean spoke from up ahead of me, "Sam, I'm sorry, but I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Okay, look. Yesterday was Tuesday, right? But today is Tuesday too!" Sam said, panicked.

Dean shot me a concerned glance, "Yeah. No. Good. You're totally balanced."

"So you don't believe me?!"

Dean laughed, but was cut off as he slammed into a blonde girl walking the opposite way down the sidewalk, carrying a stack of paper.

"Excuse me," the girl said, nudging past me as Dean stared after her.

He turned back to Sam, "Look, I'm just saying that it's crazy, you know, I mean, even for us crazy. Dingo ate my baby crazy. Hey, maybe it was another of your psychic premonitions."

Sam shook his head, "No, no way, way too vivid. Okay, look, we were at the Mystery Spot, and then—"

"And then what?" Dean asked.

Sam paused. "Then I woke up."

We walked past two movers trying to push a desk into a doorway, groaning at each other as they struggled with the obviously too-big piece.

"Told you it wouldn't fit," one of the movers mumbled.

"What do you want, a Pulitzer?" his partner retorted.

Sam spoke up suddenly, "Wait a minute! The Mystery Spot. You think maybe it—"

"Maybe what?" Dean asked.

Sam sighed, "We gotta check that place out. Look, just – go with me on this, okay?"

"All right, all right, we'll go tonight, after close, get ourselves a nice long look," said Dean.

Sam froze as he processed what Dean had said, and he whipped around, "Wait, what? No."

"Why not?"

"Uhh – Let's just go now. Right now. Business hours, nice and crowded."

Dean stared hard at Sam, "My God, you're a freak."

Sam glared at him, "Dean."

"Play nice," I added, making Sam look at me as though he had just realized I was there.

"Okay! Whatever. We'll go now," Dean said.

Dean walked a few feet ahead of Sam and I, and looked to his right as he began to cross the street. As he did, a car slammed into him from his left.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, rushing to his brother's side.

I followed behind, holding up passing cars. We didn't need any more Winchesters getting run over.

Sam knelt down, "Dean, no, no, no."

Dean had blood all over his face, and he was barely moving. Sam carefully turned him over onto his back, and cradling him in his arms.

"Come on! Dean."

The old man from the diner, Mr. Pickett, was leaning out of the car window. Sam looked at him, then up at me, then back down to Dean.

He spoke softly to his brother, "Hey. Dean."

Dean wasn't moving. Sam looked up at me again, desperately, the tears in his eyes matching my own.

"Dean. Dean."

The blaring radio woke me up. I was tucked into the motel bed, staring up at the ceiling while Asia played. I sat up, looking around. Dean sat on the other side of the bed, putting on his boots. Sam was sitting bolt-upright in the next bed.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!" Dean called over the tinny radio.

That wasn't right. Dean died. Dean got hit by a car and died. But there he was, dancing his way into the bathroom.

"Sam," I said, "Sammy. What's going on?"

He looked at me, eyes blown wide, "What do you mean?"

"Dean died! We were all in the street!" I whispered furiously.

"You…you remember that?" Sam asked, getting up out of the bed.

"Well duh! He _died_. And now I'm here. In _bed_. Oh, I'm crazy. I'm crazier than before. I'm batshit off-the-wall crazy," I flopped back onto the bed, hands over my face.

Sam stood over me, "No, no. No. The same thing happened to me. There's something going on. I don't know what it is, but Dean's died twice."

"Twice?"

"YES. This has happened twice. And I'm freaking out."

Dean threw a toothbrush at me, interrupting the conversation.

"Scrub up, princess!" he called.

As the fear over the idea that all of this had happened before set in, Sam got dressed. I stared at the toothbrush like it held all the mysteries in the universe. Sam nodded his head toward the bathroom, and I got up to join him.

"If you're gonna live like us, you're getting the intensive course," Dean said, stashing his toothbrush as we came in, "Ain't no time for taking turns. Just wash up and head out."

Sam and I didn't even bother with brushing our teeth. As Sam watched, Dean threw his head back and started gargling water, loudly. He tilted his head towards us, and grinned at his antics. Sam stared at him, mouth agape.

I walked a few feet behind Sam and Dean all the way to the diner, a half-hour later. Everything was the same. Every car we passed, every patron in the diner. Mr. Pickett and his car keys. Cal at the bar.

"Hey. Tuesday. Pig in a poke," Dean said, looking thrilled at the idea of the Tuesday special.

"Okay, would you listen to me, Dean? 'Cause I am flipping out," Sam said.

Doris the waitress walked up to our table, "Are you kids ready?"

Sam answered for us, "He'll take the special, side of bacon, coffee, black. She'll have the potatoes and bacon, and tea. Nothing for me, thanks."

"You got it," said Doris.

Dean looked at his brother, smirking, "Sammy, I get all tingly when you take control like that."

"Quit screwing around, Dean," Sam said.

"Okay. Okay. I'm listening. So, so – you think that you're in some kind of a what again?"

"Time loop," Sam and I said simultaneously.

"Like "Groundhog Day"," Dean said.

Sam looked relieved, "Yes, exactly. Like "Groundhog Day"."

Dean nodded, "Uh-huh."

"So you don't believe me," Sam clarified.

Dean laughed, "It's just a little crazy, I mean even for us crazy, you know, like, uh—"

"Dingo ate my baby crazy?" Sam offered.

"How'd you know I was going to say that?" Dean asked, curiously.

"Because you said it before, Dean, that's my whole point."

"We know everything that's going to happen," I insisted.

Doris arrived a just then, with a tray holding our drinks and a bottle of hot sauce, just like she had done the day before.

"A coffee and a tea, both black, and some hot sauce for the–" She gasped as the hot sauce fell off the tray, "Whoops. Crap!"

But Sam had grabbed the hot sauce bottle with one hand as it fell. Doris gasped. Sam didn't even glance at the bottle as he gave it back to her.

"Thanks," she said, placing the bottle down on the table and walking off, smiling.

"Nice reflexes," Dean said, impressed.

"No. I knew it was going to happen," Sam said.

Dean sighed, "Okay, look. I'm sure that there's some sort of an explanation—"

"You're just going to have to go with me on this, Dean, you just have to, you owe me that much!" insisted Sam.

"Calm down–"

"Don't tell me to calm down! I can't calm down. I can't. Because—"

"Because what?" Dean asked.

"Because you die, today, Dean."

Dean looked affronted, "I'm not gonna die. Not today."

"Twice now I've watched you die, and I can't. I won't do it again, okay? Aly's seen it too. Yesterday. We watched you die. You're just going to have to believe me. Please," Sam implored.

"All right. I still think you're nuts, but okay, whatever this is, we'll figure it out," Dean agreed.

Sam nodded unhappily.

"He's really shaken up," I said quietly, "I am too. I know it's crazy. But I don't want to see you die, Dean."

Dean looked at me, and smiled softly. He reached across to my hand that was resting on the table and squeezed it.

Everything outside was just the same, too. Sam was trying desperately to catch Dean up on the issue. I silently narrated every little event on the streets as it happened. The dog barked at us as we went by. Dean slammed into the blonde girl walking the opposite way down the sidewalk, carrying a stack of paper.

"Excuse me," the girl said, nudging past me as Dean stared after her.

We walked past the two movers trying to shove a desk through a doorway.

"Told you it wouldn't fit."

"What do you want, a Pulitzer?"

Dean spoke up, "And you think this cheesy-ass tourist trap has something to do with it?"

"Maybe it's the real deal, you know? The, the magnetic fields bending spacetime or whatever," Sam said intently.

"I don't know, it all seems a little too "X-Files" for me," Dean replied.

"Well, I don't know how else to explain it, Dean!" Sam said impatiently.

"All right! All right. We'll go tonight after they close, get ourselves a nice long look," Dean said.

Sam's head snapped up, "No no no no no, we can't."

"Why not?"

"Because y–y–ou—" Sam went silent.

"I what?" Dean implored.

Sam glanced at me, but didn't say anything. I stared at the ground. This wasn't my place.

"I die there?"

"Blown away, actually," Sam muttered.

"Huh. Okay, let's go now," Dean suggested.

Dean started to walk forward, but before he could get more than a few feet out, Sam had run after him. I had the same idea. Dean stopped, Sam's hands on his shoulders and me clinging to his right hand, just as Mr. Pickett zoomed by in his car.

"Stay out of the way!" yelled Mr. Pickett.

The three of us stared after the car. Dean broke out laughing, but it died as soon as he caught sight of Sam's face.

Dean raised an eyebrow, "Wait, did he –?"

"Yesterday. Yeah," Sam said.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Did it look cool, like in the movies?" Dean asked eagerly.

Sam stared at him, irritated, "You peed yourself."

Dean looked at me, an uncomfortable sort of expression on his face, "Of course I peed myself. Man gets hit by a car, you think he has full control over his bladder? Come on!"

Dean carefully looked both ways, and walked peevishly across the street.

"I think I should stay at the motel," I said as we made our way downtown.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged, "It might actually be better. The only one who's gotten hurt at all has been you. This way, she'll be safe."

"Exactly. I think I need to relax a little," I said.

Sam handed me the motel keys, "Don't open the doors to anyone but us, okay?"

"Yes, Dad," I said.

I headed off in the opposite direction as the Winchesters. We were only a few doors down from the motel. It was probably crazy, but I felt safe. I had the knife in my belt. I was going to the motel room, where the guys had all their other goodies stashed. It was fine.

As soon as I got into the motel room I regretted my choice. I was in for a boring day. I rifled through Dean's bag, trying to find something interesting. Finding nothing, I moved to Sam's. Jackpot.

I pulled Sam's laptop out of his backpack. Oh, this would be fun. I booted it up, and as soon as I typed in the Wi-Fi password for the motel, I decided to try something out. I typed 'NETFLIX' into the search bar, and surprise of surprises, the familiar red webpage popped up. I logged in with my account. Everything was the same, as far as I could tell, just that Supernatural wasn't in my view history. Maybe the demon that had possessed me for so long liked watching its shows, too. So, I scrolled through my history and picked a show to watch.

If you'd been there, you would have done the same thing. Don't lie to me.

Somewhere around my tenth episode of Doctor Who, I felt my eyes getting heavy. I didn't want to sleep. I wanted to wait for the Winchesters. But everything was going dark and sleepy…

My eyes snapped open to the sound of Asia pouring over the radio. Again.

"Sammy!" I gasped as I sat up.

Dean glanced back at me, but continued dancing along to the song. Sam sat up, staring at Dean.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

Sam lay back against the pillow, trying to catch his breath.

"It happened again," I said.

"I know," groaned Sam from his bed, "I can't stop it."


	4. Chapter 4

Nothing to say, really, besides the usual good wishes and hopes that you enjoy! xxBecca

)()()()()()()()()()(

Our morning routine repeated, a simultaneously humorous and horrifying mimicry of the past few days. We found ourselves in the same diner, same table. Sam was feverishly re-explaining the scenario to Dean, and I was trying really hard not to be sick.

"I still think you're nuts, but ... whatever this is, we'll figure it out," Dean said, staring at his brother intently.

"Thanks," Sam murmured.

"So, uh ... If you're stuck in "Groundhog Day", why? What's behind it?" asked Dean.

Sam shrugged helplessly, "Well, first I thought it was the Mystery Spot. Now I'm not so sure."

"What do we do?"

"Well, we keep you breathing. Try to make it to tomorrow. I mean, that's the only thing I can think of."

"Shouldn't be too hard."

Sam scoffed, "Yeah, right. Dean, I've watched you die a few times now and I can't ever seem to stop it."

"Well, nothing's set in stone," Dean replied, "You say I order the same thing every day, right?"

"Yeah. Pig in a poke, side of bacon," I recounted.

Dean turned to Doris, who was standing by the window to the kitchen, talking with the cook, "'Scuse me, sweetheart?"

The waitress turned around.

"Can I get sausage instead of bacon?"

"Sure thing, hon," Doris replied.

"See? Different day already," Dean said, looking at me and Sam triumphantly, "You see, if you and I decide that I am not gonna die – I'm not gonna die."

Doris walked over with Dean's food. He was the only one who had ordered anything. I was too panicked to eat, and Sam never had breakfast anymore.

"Thank you," Dean said, stabbing a sausage link with his fork and biting it.

He watched us as he ate. Sam grinned, and I rested my head on his shoulder, happy that for now at least things weren't terrible. But then Dean started choking on his sausage.

Sam leaned across the table, knocking me off him, "Dean. Dean?"

_Heat of the moment…_

Dean stuck his head, white with shampoo lather, around the shower curtain. I could see him from my spot perched on the bed, and he winked at me.

"You mean we can't even go out for breakfast?" Dean called.

"You'll thank me when it's Wednesday!" Sam replied.

"Whatever that means," Dean muttered.

He disappeared back behind the shower curtain. Sam stared out the window, lost in thought. I didn't dare try to make smalltalk. I watched the lines of his shoulders just start to relax, when there was a yelp from Dean in the bathroom. The thudding sound of Dean hitting the floor echoed through the motel room, and everything vanished.

_Heat of the moment…_

We all sat around the tiny motel room table, tacos from the joint on the next corner spread out in front of us. Dean took a big bite of his, and chewed happily.

Dean looked up at Sam with panic in his eyes, "Do these tacos taste funny to you?"

_Heat of the moment…_

I watched Dean's reflection in the bathroom mirror as he got out his electric razor. He plugged it into the socket on the wall, and before I could react, there were tiny arcs of electricity pulsing over his fingertips. The socket must've malfunctioned, because that was electrocution.

_Heat of the moment…_

It had only taken Dean a few minutes to duct-tape the Mystery Spot owner, the same one who Sammy said had shot Dean the first day of the time loop, to a chair. Why we kept him in the room with us, I didn't understand. But I was kind of glad we had another witness to the madness we were experiencing.

I watched as Sam hacked through the walls of the Mystery Spot with an axe. He was starting to scare me, honestly, with the intense faces and the way he seemed to make personal satisfaction in every slice in the wall.

"Is he okay?" I asked Dean, "Like really?"

"No clue," he replied, eyes glued to his brother.

"You might need to control the situation," I said, doubtfully.

Dean spoke reassuringly to the owner, "Everybody's fine, nobody's gonna get hurt, okay? Sammy? Maybe you should drop the axe and let this guy go, what do you say?"

"Something's gotta be going on here. I intend to find out what," Sam said, swinging the axe again.

"Place is tore up pretty good, dude. Time to give it a rest," Dean cajoled.

Sam screamed, "NO! I'm gonna take it down to studs."

"Sammy, that's enough. Give me the axe."

I walked out of the room, done with their fighting. I was going crazy too, but I didn't need to take it out on Dean.

"Leave it, Dean," I heard Sam say.

"Give it." That was Dean.

"No, you give it."

Oh, God, they were fighting over the axe.

"Let it go."

"No."

"Let it go, come on!"

"Dean, leave it, please—"

All at once there was a horrifying squishy kind of noise.

"Dean?"

I could hear the Mystery Spot owner screaming under his duct tape muzzle. Then everything went dark.

_Heat of the moment…_

"Drive safely now, Mr. Pickett," the cashier said, just like he did every morning.

"Yeah, yeah," Mr. Pickett replied irritably.

Sam bumped into Mr. Pickett as we went by. I knew what he was doing. He had done it the past eight days.

"Can't stay unless you order something, Cal. You know the rules."

"Some coffee."

We sat down in our normal booth. I watched a man sitting at the counter, eating pancakes and maple syrup. He'd been there every other day, but my tired eyes were glazed and watching him was weirdly soothing.

"Hey. Tuesday. Pig in a poke," said Dean, following the daily routine to the letter.

Sam placed a set of keys down on the table in front of Dean.

"What are those?"

"The old man's. Trust me, you don't want him behind the wheel," Sam said tiredly.

"You kids ready?" Doris asked.

"Uh, yes, we are. I'll have the special, side of bacon and a coffee," Dean ordered, per usual.

"Hey, Doris? What I'd like is for you to log in some more hours at the archery range. You're a terrible shot," Sam said, not missing a beat.

"How'd you know that?" Doris asked, incredulous.

"Lucky guess."

Sam stared at the table, expressionless. Two Tuesdays ago, Doris killed Dean with a bow and arrow. I didn't like to think about it. Dean with Dean glanced up at Doris, who walked away frowning. He turned his gaze to me.

"You don't wanna know," I said, holding up my hands in defeat.

Dean turned to his brother, "Okay, so you think you're caught in some kind of what, again?"

"Time loop," Sam and I answered simultaneously.

"Like Groundhog Day."

"Doesn't matter. There's no way to stop it," Sam shrugged.

Dean smirked, "Jeez, aren't you grumpy."

Sam huffed, "Yeah, I am. You wanna know why? Because this is the hundredth Tuesday in a row we've been through, and it never stops. Ever. So yeah, I'm a little grumpy."

I glanced back over my shoulder, and then turned to Dean, "Hot sauce."

"What?" asked Dean.

Doris came up to the table with her tray, "Coffee, black, and some hot sauce for the—whoops! Crap!"

Sam caught the falling hot sauce and slid it across the table.

"Thanks," Doris said.

"Nice reflexes," Dean commented, impressed.

"I knew it was going to happen, Dean. I know everything that's gonna happen," Sam insisted.

Dean raised an eyebrow, "You don't know everything."

"Yeah. I do."

"Yeah, right. Nice guess," the boys spoke in unison.

"It wasn't a guess," said Sam.

As Dean spoke, Sam spoke along with him, mocking but knowing every word, "Right, you're a mind reader. Cut it out, Sam. Sam."

They leaned towards each other simultaneously.

"You think you're being funny but you're being really really childish! Sam Winchester wears makeup."

When Sam kept up, word for word, Dean turned to me. But I was ready.

"Aly Fairman has small boobs," we said, in unison, "Aly Fairman is a virgin."

Annoyed, he turned back to Sam, "Sam Winchester cries his way through sex. Sam Winchester keeps a ruler by the bed and every morning when he wakes up he—"

Dean threw up his hands before they could finish, "Okay, enough!"

"That's not all," Sam said, glancing at the other patrons in the diner, "Randy the cashier? He's skimming from the register. Judge Myers? At night he puts on a furry bunny outfit."

The poor judge overheard us, and knocked over his glass.

I jerked a thumb behind me, "Over there, that's Cal. He's gonna rob Tony the mechanic on the way home."

"What's your point?" Dean asked.

"Our point is we've lived through every possible Tuesday. We've watched you die every possible way. I have ripped apart the Mystery Spot, burnt it down, tried everything I know to save your life, and I can't. No matter what we do, you die. And then we wake up. And then it's Tuesday again," Sam said with finality.

Dean didn't speak to us until we got up to leave the diner. It was mind-numbing, the exact same things happening over and over.

"Dog," said Sam, out on the sidewalk.

The same dog tied to bike racks barked at us.

Dean looked at Sam, slightly freaked, "There's gotta be some way out of this."

"Where's my dang keys?" deadpanned Sam.

We passed Mr. Pickett, searching his pockets for the keys Sam lifted.

"Where's my dang keys?"

I pointed ahead of us, "Excuse me."

Dean ran into the blonde girl, same as every day, and as she passed she said, "Excuse me."

"She's kinda cute," chuckled Dean.

I felt my cheeks color. Jealousy? I disregarded the weird feeling as Dean put out his hand to stop Sam.

"Hey. All the times we've walked down this street, I ever do this?" Dean asked.

He turned around and went after the blonde girl, calling "Excuse me, miss!"

Sam stared after him, "No."

The girl gave Dean one of her papers, and he walked to catch up with us.

"A hundred Tuesdays and you never bothered to check what she was holding in her hands?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. I didn't meet Dean's eyes. He was totally right, we overlooked her. Dean held up the flyer.

"That's the guy who went missing?" Dean asked.

We stared at the name "DEXTER HASSELBACK", printed in large letters under the picture from the newspaper clipping.

"Yeah?"

"That's his daughter back there," Dean explained.

Sam grabbed the flyer in one hand, and my wrist in another, and tugged me down the sidewalk after the blonde girl, "Ma'am? Ah, Miss?"

I turned to see Dean leaning down to pet the dog that had been barking at us every day. I heard him scream, and with a pang of annoyance, I watched everything go dark.

_Heat of the moment…_

Dean was shoveling his breakfast into his mouth, oblivious of our crisis. Sam was on his laptop, doing more research. I was watching the man eating his pancake again. It had become a routine for me. I knew I would be ill if I had pancakes that many times in a row. Today, he had pink syrup, though. Changing it up.

"So the police report says Dexter Hasselback is a professor, but that's not all he is," Sam read.

"What is he?" asked Dean.

Sam looked up from his screen, "I talked to his daughter. Guy's quite the journalist. Columns in magazines, a blog."

The pancake man stood up and left the diner, folding his morning paper. My eyes snapped back to Dean with the removal of my usual entertainment.

"He writes about tourist attractions," Sam explained, "Mystery spots, UFO crash sites—he gets his kicks debunking them. I mean, he's already put four of these places out of business. Here."

Sam turned the laptop to face Dean.

"Dexter Hasselback, truth warrior?" Dean read aloud, "More like a pompous schmuck, you ask me."

"Yeah, tell me about it. I mean, I've read everything the guy's ever written, and he must have weighed a ton, he was so full of himself," Sam said.

"When'd you have time to do all this research?"

Sam looked at Dean, sighing, "Come on."

He packed up his laptop, and the three of us stood up. Dean started laughing to himself. I raised an eyebrow. We were the ones going psycho, not him.

"What?" Sam asked.

Dean ran a hand along his jawline, "I just, it's just funny, you know, I mean, this guy spends his whole life crapping on Mystery Spots and then he vanishes into one. It's kinda poetic, you know, just desserts."

"You're right, that is just desserts," Sam agreed.

Dean walked by as I was slipping a tip under our cups, but Sam stooped. He stared at the pancake man's plate still sitting on the bar. It had a piece of pancake and a pool of pink syrup on it.

"What's wrong?" I asked, as Dean wandered back toward us.

Sam watched the man walk by the diner window, and I watched Sam.

"Guy has maple syrup for the last hundred Tuesdays, all of a sudden he's having strawberry?" Sam said, mystified.

Dean scoffed, "It's a free country. Man can't choose his own syrup, huh? What have we become?"

Sam shook his head, "Not in this diner. Not today. Nothing in this place ever changes. Ever. Except me, and Aly."

He was right. I'd been watching the man for days, and then all of a sudden…

_Heat of the moment…_

I rolled over in bed. Sam was sitting up, a dead expression on his face. We locked eyes as the radio crooned.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!" Dean called.

He was sitting on the other bed, tying his shoes, same as always.

The pancake man had maple syrup this time. Dean was eating his breakfast happily, but today, both Sam and I were watching the man.

"So you think you're caught in some kind of what, again?" Dean asked.

Sam didn't even look at him, "Eat your breakfast."

When the man got up and left, I immediately stood up and followed him. Sam was close behind, clutching a large paper bag in his hand.

"What's in the bag?" Dean asked, concerned.

He came after us pretty quickly, dropping some money on the table for his breakfast.

The man was walking down the street fiddling with his cell phone. Sam handed me the paper bag, and nodded once. He grabbed the pancake man, slammed him into a chain-link fence, and put the tip of a wooden stake at his throat.

"Hey!" the man choked out.

"I know who you are. Or should I say, what," Sam said furiously.

"Oh my god, please don't kill me," the man whimpered.

"Uh, Sam?" Dean said tentatively.

"Stay out of this, Dean," I warned, "We've got him."

Sam grinned, expression dark, "It took me a hell of a long time but I got it."

"What?" the man asked.

"It's your MO that gave you away. Going after pompous jerks, giving them their just desserts—your kind loves that, don't they?"

"Yeah, sure, okay," The man glanced at the weapon in Sam's hand, "Just put the stake down!"

Dean nodded hurriedly, "Sam, maybe you should—"

"No!" yelled Sam, "There's only one creature powerful enough to do what you're doing. Making reality out of nothing, sticking people in time loops—in fact you'd pretty much have to be a god. You'd have to be a Trickster."

The man pleaded, "Mister, my name is Ed Coleman, my wife's name is Amelia, I got two kids, for crying out loud I sell ad space—"

Sam shouted again, "Don't lie to me! I know what you are! We've killed one of your kind before!"

The pancake man's face changed, morphing into the Trickster who'd done all those urban legends, who'd given Dean a fantasy room with two super-hot girls. Who the Winchester and Bobby had stabbed with a wooden stake. But here he was, grinning at us as we all stared like idiots.

He smirked, "Actually, bucko, you didn't."

"Why are you doing this?" Sam pressed.

The Trickster looked at him dubiously, "You're joking, right? You chuckleheads tried to kill me last time. Why wouldn't I do this?"

I raised my hand furtively.

"Except you, baby," The Trickster acknowledged, "You're new."

"And Hasselback, what about him?" Dean asked.

"That putz? He said he didn't believe in wormholes, so I dropped him in one."

The Trickster laughed, and I stared at him. This guy was way more powerful in person that he was on TV…or…in my head…or whatever. It was trippy.

"Then you guys showed up," he smiled, satisfied, "I made you the second you hit town."

Sam bristled, "So this is fun for you? Killing Dean over and over again?"

The Trickster looked thoughtful, "One, yes. It is fun. And two? This is so not about killing Dean. This joke is on you, Sam. Watching your brother die, every day? Forever?"

"You son of a bitch," said Sam, shaking with anger.

"How long will it take you to realize?" he asked, voice silky smooth, "You can't save your brother. No matter what."

"Oh yeah? I kill you, this all ends now," Sam threatened.

"Oh-oh, hey, whoa! Okay. Look. I was just playing around. You can't take a joke, fine. You're out of it. Tomorrow, you'll wake up and it'll be Wednesday," The Trickster glanced quickly between the two boys and I, "I swear."

Sam spoke dangerously soft, "You're lying."

The Trickster shrugged, "If I am, you know where to find me. Having pancakes at the diner."

Sam looked around at us all, and then focused back on The Trickster, "No. Easier to just kill you."

"Sorry, kiddo. Can't have that."

The Trickster snapped his fingers. Great. Here we go.

_Promise me I'll be back in time…_

I sat up, rubbing my eyes, "Huey Lewis? Really?"

Sam was in the next bed, same as always, looking around incredulously.

"What, you gonna sleep all day?" Dean's voice called.

He was standing by the bathroom sink, watching us as he finished up brushing his teeth.

"No Asia," Sam said.

"Yeah, I know. This station sucks," Dean replied.

Sam turned over to look at the radio. He gasped, and I looked back, too.

"It's Wednesday!" Sam exclaimed.

Dean stared, concerned, "Yeah, usually comes after Tuesday. Turn that thing off, will you?"

Sam grinned, almost maniacally, "What, are you kidding me? This isn't the most beautiful song you've ever heard?"

Dean looked at me with wide eyes, "No. How many Tuesdays did you have?"

Sam hurriedly threw on a long-sleeved shirt over his T-shirt, "I don't know. I lost count. Hey, wait. What do you remember?"

Dean shrugged, "I remember you were pretty whacked out of it yesterday and then I remember running into the Trickster. But no, that's about it."

"All right. Pack your stuff, let's get the hell out of town. Now," Sam said.

"No breakfast?" asked Dean.

"No breakfast," I said forcefully.

I was out in the parking lot with Dean, leaning on the front of the Impala as he moved guns around in the trunk. Sam and I had agreed he shouldn't go out there alone, but since it was Wednesday, odds were I'd be enough protection.

"You sure we should just let the Trickster go?" Dean asked.

"It's what Sam wants," I said.

Footsteps echoed behind us. I assumed it was Sam.

"Sammy, you're losing your edge," Dean commented, turning around.

"Gimme your wallet."

That wasn't Sam. I whirled around to see Cal, pointing a handgun at Dean. Jesus Christ, no. Not now.

"Whoa whoa whoa, buddy, just relax," Dean said, lifting his hands.

"I am relaxed!" Cal yelled, hands shaking.

Dean spoke carefully, "Okay, all right, nobody wants this to end the wrong way, let's talk about it a sec."

"Give me the wallet!" Cal yelled again.

"Just do it!" I insisted, eyes locked on the gun.

"No! We can figure this out, man!" Dean said, raising his voice.

The gun went off.

Cal took off around the corner. I ran out from in front of the car and dropped down beside Dean. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sam hurry down the motel exterior stairs. Dean was bleeding, and twitching, and I had no idea what to do.

Sam ran to us and picked Dean up gently, muttering helplessly, "No, no, no no no, hey, hey, come on, not today, not today, this isn't supposed to happen today, come on—"

Dean wasn't moving anymore. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, waiting, I realized, to be transported back to bed, at the beginning of our time loop. Nothing happened. Sam's eyes flew open. Dean was still dead.

"It's not working," I whispered, borderline hysterical.

"I'm supposed to wake up," murmured Sam.

He bowed his head into his brother's jacket and cried. It terrified me. The strongest person I'd ever known was coming apart, and I couldn't do a thing about it. So I cried, too.


	5. Chapter 5

So this marks the end of the Mystery Spot transcript arc. Yep. It was hell to write, in case you were wondering. xxBecca

)()()()()()()()()()(

The next six months were absolute hell. I stayed with Sammy, as he crossed the country back and forth on a hunt for the Trickster. He took the Impala, and he took on a whole new personality.

We spent a lot of time killing things. There was a demon crime ring in Death Valley. A whole big deal. Vampires in New York State. A werewolf in Kentucky, which made Sammy incredibly sad. And I got good. Like, not to brag or anything, but I got really good, like, raw muscle-memory good. I had to. Sammy, this new, depressed, intense killer Sammy would've let me die if I didn't keep up.

He had the Impala's trunk redone so that all the weapons fit into precisely-shaped foam slots like his dad used to use.

There was the time we stumbled into the motel room after a particularly bad run-in with a demon. Sammy tugged off his button-down shirt to reveal a blood-soaked t-shirt. I had to cut up through the stained fabric to reveal the wound, even though it made me sick to look at. Using a set of very blunt medical tweezers, I pulled out the bullet. Sammy doused the whole thing in hydrogen peroxide and stitched it up himself. With dental floss.

We ate crappy food, when Sammy even remembered he had to eat.

He built this mural, a wall of maps and newspaper clippings and security-camera stills featuring the Trickster, arranged in neat lines with none overlapping. It was his obsession. He barely spoke to me unless we were on a job and I needed instructions.

But one day, Bobby left us a voicemail. That wasn't unusual. He called a lot, and usually I talked to him while Sam pretended neither of us existed. This time it was different. This time, he said he found the Trickster.

We walked into the Mystery Spot to find Bobby kneeling on the floor, turning the pages of a book, which was sitting in the dead center of a chalked diagram. Bobby stood up when he saw us, face creased with concern.

"It's good to see you, boy," Bobby said, grabbing Sammy in a hug that he didn't return.

Bobby turned to me next, crushing me with a hug, "You too, darlin'."

"What are we doing here, Bobby?" Sammy asked coldly.

"Well, it's the last place we're sure the Trickster worked his magic."

"So?"

Bobby stared at him, "So you want this thing? I found a summoning ritual to bring the Trickster here."

"What do we need?"

"Blood."

"How much blood?" I asked warily.

"Ritual says near a gallon. And it's gotta be fresh, too," Bobby sighed.

"Meaning we have to bleed a person dry," Sammy clarified.

"And it's gotta be tonight. Or not for another fifty years," Bobby said.

"Then let's go get some," Sammy turned to leave.

Bobby stayed frozen on the spot, his hand resting on my shoulder to stop me from following. Sammy glanced back at him, and turned around.

"You break my heart, kid," Bobby said gruffly.

"What?"

"I'm not gonna let you murder an innocent man."

Sammy's eyes flashed, "Then why'd you bring me here?"

Bobby was incredulous, "Why? Because it was the only way you'd see me! Because I'm trying to knock some sense into you! Because I thought you'd back down from killing a man!"

"Well, you thought wrong. Leave the stuff, I'll do it myself," said Sammy.

"I told you, I'm not gonna let you kill a man."

"It's none of your damn business what I do!" Sammy shouted.

"You want your brother back so bad?" Bobby asked, mockingly.

He leaned down and pulled a knife out of his bag. He offered it to Sammy.

"Fine."

"What are you talking about?" Sammy asked, eyeing the knife warily.

"Better me than a civilian," Bobby said, holding out the knife.

"Bobby…" I said warningly.

Bobby glared at me, "This ain't your fight, sweetheart."

"You're crazy, Bobby. I'm not killing you," Sammy said, backing down.

Bobby scoffed, "Oh, now I'm the crazy one. Look, Sam, I'm old, I'm coming near the end of my trail. But you can keep fighting. Saving folk. But you need your brother. Let me get him back to you."

"Bobby—"

"You and Dean, you boys are the closest thing I have to family. I wanna do this."

Sammy took the knife, still looking doubtful, "Okay."

"Good," Bobby said.

Bobby turned around a dropped to his knees. I made a noise of protest, probably just an embarrassing little squeak, but Bobby held up a hand to shush me.

"Just make it quick."

But Sammy hesitated.

"Do it, son," Bobby implored.

"Yeah, okay, Bobby," Sammy said, pulling a wooden stake out of his shirt. "But you wanna know why?"

Sammy seized Bobby around the throat and shoved the stake through his back. The tip came right through Bobby's chest.

"Because you're not Bobby."

Sammy twisted the stake. Blood spurted out of the wound. I watched in horror. How the hell did he carry that in without me noticing? Maybe six months ago Me wouldn't have noticed, but current Me definitely would've had some questions.

Bobby went still and fell forward. Sammy let go of him, staring at Bobby's corpse. Nothing happened.

"Sammy, what did you do?" I whispered.

"Bobby? Bobby! Bobby!" Sammy yelled, starting to panic.

But the corpse vanished. The stake fell over, no longer a body there to hold it up. It shot over Sammy's shoulder into the hand of the Trickster. Sammy turned to face him.

The Trickster spoke in his easy, lilting voice, "You're right. I was just screwing with you. Pretty good, though, Sam. Smart. Let me tell you, whoever said Dean was the dysfunctional one has never seen you with a sharp object in your hands. Holy Full Metal Jacket."

"Bring him back," Sammy growled.

"Who, Dean? Didn't my girl send you the flowers? Dean's dead. He ain't coming back. His soul's downstairs doing the hellfire rumba as we speak," the Trickster said with obvious delight.

"Just take us back to that Tuesday—er, Wednesday—when it all started. Please. We won't come after you, I swear," Sammy pleaded.

"You swear."

"Yes."

The Trickster considered this, "I don't know. Even if I could—"

"You can," Sammy insisted.

"True. But that don't mean I should. Sam, there's a lesson here that I've been trying to drill into that freakish Cro-Magnon skull of yours," the Trickster said.

"Lesson? What lesson?"

"This obsession to save Dean? The way you two keep sacrificing yourselves for each other? Nothing good comes out of it. Just blood and pain. Dean's your weakness. And the bad guys know it, too. It's gonna be the death of you, Sam. Sometimes you just gotta let people go."

Sammy stared at the Trickster with big doe eyes, "He's my brother."

The Trickster replied, "Yup. And like it or not, this is what life's gonna be like without him."

"Wait, wait," I said, before Sammy could reply.

The Trickster looked at me appraisingly, "What now?"

"Why did you get me mixed up in this? First I couldn't remember the days repeating, then I could. Why, if this is a personal lesson for Sammy?" I asked.

He smirked, "Aw. That's a good question."

The Trickster snapped his fingers, and Sammy froze in place. I looked between them in horror.

"Cover your ears, Sammy," he said, and turned to me, "Because, my dear little hunter maiden. You need the lesson just as bad as Sam does. I figured that out real quick. You think you can't live without Dean either. You know why? You're in love with him."

I gaped at The Trickster. How could he assume that? How could he possibly think he knew that?

Sammy unfroze, looking murderous, "Hey."

"Sorry, bro, it was time for secrets. Now. I need you to learn your lesson, kiddos," The Trickster said, sucking in his cheeks.

"Please. Just—please."

"I swear, it's like talking to a brick wall," The Trickster said, exasperated, "Okay, look. This all stopped being fun months ago. You're Travis Bickle in a skirt, pal. I'm over it."

"Meaning what?" Sammy choked out.

"Meaning that's for me to know and you to find out."

The Trickster snapped his fingers, and everything went dark. Again.

_Promise me I'll be back in time…_

Like a broken record, I woke up in the same old motel bed from six months ago. I was facing Sammy, and I watched him sit up

"What, you two gonna sleep all day?"

Dean was standing by the bathroom sink brushing his teeth. He was alive, looking so wonderfully, annoyingly ordinary that I wanted to cry.

"I know, no Asia. This station sucks," he said.

Sammy checked the clock radio, "It's Wednesday."

Dean glanced at him, "Yeah, which usually follows Tuesday. Turn that thing off."

Sammy threw off the covers and went up to Dean, pulling him into a hug.

"Dude, how many Tuesdays did you have?" Dean asked, sounding defeated.

"Enough," said Sammy, and I could hear him holding back tears, "What, uh, what do you remember?"

Dean shrugged, "I remember you were pretty whacked out of it yesterday. I remember getting up with the Trickster. That's about it."

Sammy nodded, "Let's go."

"No breakfast?" Dean asked.

"No breakfast," I assured him.

"All right, I'll pack the car."

Sammy spoke softly, "Wait, you're not going anywhere alone."

"It's the parking lot, Sam," Dean complained.

"Just—just trust me," said Sammy.

We dressed and packed our things. They were all over the room, just like we'd left them. As if the last six months never happened, which, I guess, they didn't. I was shaken up, and Sammy looked absolutely awful, despite his relief at having Dean back. I sat on the bed as Sammy finished packing

Dean opened the motel room door, but turned back, "Hey, you don't look so good. Something else happen?"

Sammy said nothing for a moment, then replied, "I just had a really weird dream."

Dean nodded wisely, "Clowns or midgets?"

Sammy looked up at his brother, who was grinning widely. He tried to smile back as he swung his bag over his shoulder. I walked out of the room after Dean, and Sammy brought up the rear. He stopped, looking back at the unmade beds before he turned off the light, and closed the door.

As Dean and I situated the bags in the back, Sammy got right into the car and sat, waiting.

"Is he okay?" Dean asked me, voice hushed.

I shrugged, "I really don't know. Some pretty demented mind games went on with the whole Trickster deal, and I think he's trying to cope."

"We deal with a hell of a lot of stuff, though. He seems extra down," Dean commented.

"I think it'll get better. The Trickster made him think a lot about…about you…y'know, going away soon," I said, not-so-helpfully.

Dean sighed, "Oh. Well. Let's get this show on the road."

"Dean?" I said softly, as he started to walk around to the driver's seat.

He stopped, "Yeah?"

"I…" I swallowed, "I'm glad you guys found me."

Dean smiled, "Yeah, you're okay too."

"I mean it," I said, "I owe you guys a lot."

"Nah," Dean shrugged, "It's a favor. You're a cool chick."

"Thanks."

"And besides," Dean winked, "You're cute when you sleep."

Before I lost the courage to do so, I threw my arms around Dean in a hug. He tensed up for a moment, but slipped his arms around me and squeezed. I nestled my head into the crook of his neck, and we stood there for a second.

"You know, later, you and I should really have angry sex."

"What?" I gaped at Dean.

He chuckled, "Bela said that to me once. Just seemed like the thing to say."

"Give me a little warning next time, God, Dean," I said, pushing away from him with a smile.

"You didn't say no!" Dean called, smirking, as I got into the backseat of his car.

Sammy didn't say anything about how long we were out there. He was staring straight ahead, out the windshield. We pulled out of the lot, and as we passed the diner, Sammy stared at it until it disappeared from view.

"Okay, Sam, where to next?" Dean asked, once we got onto the open road.

"Can we just lay low for a few days?" he murmured.

Dean nodded, "Sure thing. We get to listen to the radio, though."

He punched the stereo button on the dash, and music poured out of the speakers. Sam glanced down at the radio dial with distaste.

I leaned forward in my seat, "Come on, Sammy, it's Metallica, not Asia."

Sammy reached up and pushed my shoulder so that I fell back into my seat. I laughed, glad I had gotten his attention. Dean caught my eye in the rearview mirror.

"Hey," said Dean, smiling deviously, "Since when do you call him Sammy?"


End file.
